sunken | Errantries

Author: Pete

Location: Moorea, Society Islands

Date: June 25, 2015

We decided to make the most of our down-time waiting for the autohelm part to come in by sailing to Moorea, three hours from Papeete. We had spent a few days ordering our autohelm part, salvaging data off a dying hard drive, and working on a dinghy cover. The sun does wicked things to the material over the years, so often canvas covers are put on to extend the lifespan of the noble work horse of Joe Schmoe Cruiser. Gringos call the covers ‘chaps’, but I like the Spanish equivalent, ‘pijamas.’ I love the idea that the dinghies tied up at the dock in their pajamas are really attending some sort of nautical sleepover with terrycloth robes, slippers, and night caps.

It was a lot of work; we made a pattern out of clear plastic in Galapagos and worked on the real thing on the mooring at Marina Taina. It’s tough to work on a project like that on a rolling boat with limited space to maneuver meters of fabric. At least that’s going to be my excuse if anyone calls me out on a few spots of rough tailoring. Most of the time we worked with the dinghy suspended from the davits and occasionally I had to get in it to work. I only once fell out of the tippy dinghy into the harbor. Miranda thought that was great.

Several of the days were pretty windy and rough when we were on a mooring ball in Taina. We had gusts to thirty knots and once breaking waves in the mooring field. One afternoon as we were working on the dinghy cover, a big catamaran broke free from its mooring and went zipping sideways downwind through a dozen moored boats. No one saw it until it was right next to us. I put the dinghy in the water and went tearing after it, without thinking about what I was going to do in my poorly idling, nine horsepower dinghy once I caught the 30 ton catamaran in 20 knots of wind. Miranda was smarter than me, as usual, and called the marina. They dispatched a launch and with the assistance of another dinghy we wrestled the boat to another mooring ball and tied it up. Miraculously, the vagabond boat didn’t ding a single other vessel out of the dozen it zipped by in the mooring field.

Then it was happily time to piss off to Moorea for a few days while we awaited the autohelm part. We motorsailed the fifteen miles across because the wind was on our bow. Of course it was the first day it had blown from that direction in a week. It was light and the going was easy. We passed Cook’s Bay, named after the popular Captain Cook who explored the area, and turned in at Opunohu Bay a few miles west. The two bays cut deep into the island of Moorea, making it look like a heart with two divots in it.

Had to hand steer the three hours over, which seems pretty easy, but is a chore when you’re used to someone else driving for thousands of miles. Motored easily through the pass with the backwards French buoy marking. The pointed teeth of Moorea’s peaks made for fantastic scenery.

Oop. That’s fanny-tastic scenery! We anchored just inside the protection of the coral reef in ten feet of water.

We put the dinghy down with gusto and took off to go snorkel. It had been three weeks since we’d been in the water. Well, except for the time I fell off the boat working on the dinghy cover. Three weeks?! We LIVE on a boat for crying out loud. How does that happen?! It was good to be back down undah. A couple chill sea turtles paddled by near the drop off and we saw some of our old friends from other boats out there too.

Came back to the boat in a nice flat anchorage and slept like babies.

The next morning we met up with friends who knew the low down of the island. Paul and Andy from Talulah Ruby showed us the secret snorkeling spots. The first spot hid seven sunken carved tikis. Legend has it that the first missionaries made the craftsman throw them in the lagoon when they came. Snorkelers keep them free of marine growth so they are in great shape. A little spooky to see under water!

Our next delight of the day was Stingray City, a sandbar in the lagoon where the stingrays (and reef sharks) congregate in the shallows. We anchored our dinghy in chest-deep water and the rays came out to play. They swam in and around us, looking for handouts. Apparently some dive operators feed them, so they were very cordial with us. They nose around you and are happy to be petted. Their skin is velvety, an unparalleled combination of smooth, slippery, and soft without feeling slimy. It’s a cool enough sensation and interaction to dissolve your speech into unintelligible, involuntary chortling. From all across the sandbar the sound of our group of friends giggling like school girls though their snorkels rang out. It’s a precious thing to hear a posh, collected fifty-year-old British man tee-heeing giddily at the thrill of a natural petting zoo.

We ended up going back the next day armed with tuna. The rays were really excited to see us then! Reminds me of a great Mitch Hedberg quote: “I find that a duck’s opinion of me is heavily influence by whether or not I have any bread.” That guy was a genius. We brought our gringo friends Rick and Lara from SeaKey, and Dutch friends Pete and Liz from Suluk.